


Dooms Day or Not I'm Staying in Bed

by silver_moon_howler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam Milligan in Lucifer's Cage, Adam Milligan is Not Forgotten, Adam Milligan is a Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Crowley (Supernatural), Background Raphael (Supernatural), Bobby Singer is Dean Winchester's Parent, Castiel Saves Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Dorks, Dean Winchester Not Being an Asshole, Dean Winchester-centric, Depressed Dean Winchester, Gabriel (Supernatural) is Loki, Gabriel Has a Crush on Sam Winchester, Gen, Good Sibling Raphael (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Lucifer (Supernatural) in the Cage, Lucifer Possessing Nick (Supernatural), Lucifer Redemption, M/M, Metatron (Supernatural) Being an Asshole, Michael (Supernatural) in Lucifer's Cage, Michael Possessing Adam Milligan, Nice Michael (Supernatural), Nick Whump, Nobody is Dead, Parental Bobby Singer, Post-Apocalypse, Protective Dean Winchester, Sassy Nick (Supernatural), Smart Dean Winchester, Worried Bobby Singer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-12-14 07:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21012278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_moon_howler/pseuds/silver_moon_howler
Summary: Basically Dean's smart, Angel's are apologetic and Castiel seriously can't deal with Dean's dead sibling bullshit right now and please Dean I'm trying to run heaven here can you just go I don't know...find something to take up your time, like organizing America's hunters and creating a secret society to support them all?Set after the Apocalypse, Dean struggles to find himself after the death of his brother, desperate he becomes quickly suicidal. Cas doesn't have the time to fix everything, even infinity can only spread so far, for now Dean is on his own. But not before Cas gives Dean an activity to keep himself occupied.*Trigger Warnings, Depictions of suicide through guns, strong themes of depression and extensive  talks on drug abuse.* I will label every chapter with Trigger Warnings before hands.





	1. Wine and Dine? More like Whine and Die.

Dean popped open the champagne, cackling.   
"Anyone want another?" His voice came out slurred, he stumbled from where he stood perched on the bar,   
"I'm blowing all my money in one go!" The crowd cheered, tossing confetti and glitter in the air coating Dean from head to toe. 

Gambling, Drinks, food he'd never been able to afford to buy before that he knew he'd hate to eat, even women because going out to look would be too much time, he didn't have any left, he wanted to live his life up to the tens before leaving. 

He smoked, Dean never smoked but he did tonight. Hs wanted to know what it tasted like, honestly better than motel coffee. Vegas Lights sparkled outside as he fell back in his bed of roses, alone in the honey moon sweet. He clutched the silk sheets before calling the women in and cracking open four bottles of wine that tasted like cough syrup tinged with blood. He woke up drunk covered in the smell of sex, half dressed and robbed of his cash. They needed it more than him, he reasoned, plus-he had more. 

The Hotels casino smelled like nicotine, he called a waiter over and bought a pack, cracking it open lighting the end. He'd been in enough fires to handle the smoke, what really killed him was the taste, it clung to the roof of his mouth, lingering in his teeth.   
"Who're your best players," he demanded. The waiter pointed to a table staring snidely at the blonde, "you'll lose all your money," he sniffed, "why don't you warm up first." Money wasn't a problem. Somewhere between drunk and hung over Dean insisted that he play with them and only them. Later he stumbled into his bedroom covered in smoke, sweating whiskey. Crumpled twenty dollar bills shoved down his pants. He vomited in the trash and passed out on his bed. 

He woke up again, completley hung over, completely depressed. He stood out on the balcony considering jumping for hours, the sun had set already and a block away a convenience store was being robbed quite publicly. Cop cars raced past, sending shivers down his spine, Dean hayed cops. Sometime around Three his hungover body, frozen over and shaking, demanded to sit down. He left the balcony open, he didn't know why but somehow the smell of fresh night air made his heart beat widely. The bed already smelled like sex, he didn't remember anything from earlier other than the pure, fake bliss that came, made of emptiness that hurt bone deep. Dean pulled away the covers and collapsed onto his bed. 

Dean's body froze, it refused to move. With each passing second it became more stiff and harder for Dean to breath. He gulped in an effort to jar its body out of its trap. He twitched his eyes, clenched his teeth but his body refused to sit up, refused to lead itself to slaughter. The gun sat tantalizing at Dean's side, hanging out from his knapsack covered in crumpled fistfuls of cash. 

At five A.M someone screamed, whether she had been attacked our something else it didn't matter, all that matter was that shock reeled through Dean's body sending him upright, ripping every fiber that had frozen. He lunged for the gun, sliding it into his mouth. And closed his eyes waiting, stuck again. His finger didn't pull trigger, it just dangled uselessly as his body forced him still, safe. Dean burned bright with anger. 

Please anyone, come save me 

The prayer was loud, in the midst of Civil War it rang heart breaking clear, before the Apocalypse ended one of Heavens higher ups would of sent a Seraphim to look into it but now no one could hear anything over the rage of war. Cas would have ignored it too if it weren't for the voice, Castiel knew who that voice belonged to. 

When Cas arrived Dean was laying in a pool of his vomit. A gun was tossed carelessly to his right. If Cas had been five seconds late Dean would have choked to death on his vomit, not that Cas would have let him stay there long, even without the Apocalypse, heaven was just a bit too chaotic to treat these things. He would have pulled his hunyer out. 

Cas worked slowly to right Dean, his grace flitted about human, running along his skin. Cas felt it like it was a second pair of hands that only he was aware of. The grace worked through every crevice of the others body cleaning it away and changing his clothes, reknitting the reality. When Cas pulled away he felt a pang in his soul at the loss of Dean's soul, duty first, he reminded himself. 

"Dean," he called. The hunter stirred in his sleep calling out Lisa's name. "Dean," he growled pushing him from sleep. Dean shot up, gasping, "Sammy," he asked. Cas brushed a hand down his chin, "no, Dean, it's me...I'm here to help you." Dean blinked, "what?" His chest shook and suddenly the dam in his throat burst, "Cas, is it really you" he whispered as tears began to roll from his eyes. Cas stared at him before nodding slowly,   
"Who else would it be Dean?" Dean swiveled "I don't know what to do," he fisted Cas's trench coat, blinking wet eyes, "I'm so lost." 

Cas leaned forward patting the others head,   
"I'm here." Dean shook his head sobbing,   
"But you aren't, you haven't responded...you're probably busy doing angel shit and I'm just some asshole who couldn't even save his own brother." He sobbed loudly, holding tightly to Cas as he had done before hundreds of times, with Cas fighting million of demons. But this time was so different, Cas realized that. 

Dean was broken, more shattered than when he had been scrapped from hell's corners. And Cas, was a human trying to play the part of a god, dressed in wings and shrouded in grace.   
"I can't help you as much now Dean, there are things I need to do by myself," he curled his fingers in Dean's hair, "for the sake of the world...but I promise you, if you so desire I will come, I will hear your longing and arrive for only you." Dean grunded his teeth, "I don't know what to do now, there's nothing left for me." Castiel pinched a strand of Dean's hair, watching it shimmer,   
"Maybe you just need to do something new, that you've never tried to do before."   
"I'm not going back to Lisa," Dean insisted, "she doesn't need the baggage." At the mention of Lisa Castiel's heart swerved. 

"No, Dean...I mean, something new, but still the same." Dean peaked up at Cas, sniffling, "what do you have in mind," he questioned. They needed all hands on deck for the coming war, and only a human could find Gods weapons, they needed more than just Dean though.   
"Don't you think it's time that Hunters began to work together?" Dean blinked, rubbing his eyes,   
"What?"   
"The apocalypse was tragic, yes. We both lost siblings, but we need to move on together, I can't be there and you need someone to have your back for hunts...you guys need to be organized and I think, Dean, that your perfect for that role." 

Dean frowned,   
"I'm not much of the lovey dovey, team work type." Cas tucked Dean's hair back again,   
"You need someone to uhm...watch your tail, why not let it be people who already know what to deal with." Dean chuckled,   
"That's the most bat shit plan ever..." he looked up and met Cas's glare, "but I suppose it's worth a shot." He sighed, "you really going to make me do this?" Cas nodded gravely, "I have neither the time or the energy to pull you from hell again." Dean smiled fondly, nuzzling the others hand. "Of course. My sincerest apologies for assuming such a thing." Dean rested his hand on Cas's wings, leaning in, "I'm sorry."  
"As am I."


	2. Pain, Suffering and a Snake that Looks like Jesus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Trigger Warnings.

Adam has once gone into an abandoned tunnel system as a dare, it was during that time between his last year of high school right up to college, he went on a road trip with some guy he forgets the name of now. Up to the Nevada, Donner Pass area where those immigrants had gotten trapped and had been forced to cannibalization. 

They walked for two hours, sometimes it would get so dark he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face-and the his phones flash light did minimal to help him as he and his friend stumbled, drunk like, through the narrow and uneven path. He could see his breath in the brief moment where there was light, at one point he swore he saw these two red eyes staring at him, but they were gone when he looked again. 

And his hands froze, they were practically blue when he got back to the car, and this was after walking around with gloves on. No matter what he did he always felt cold and alone and lost. 

The pit was an inferno of cold, do numbing his skin felt like he needed to shed all of his layers and jump into the nearest pool. Fortunately he wasn't in control of his body most of the time, he didn't need to worry about the pain unless something awful had just happened and Michael needed to recede back into his mind and recuperate. 

Time passes differently in hell, his mind would have snapped ages ago if he didn't keep a list-he remembered reading somewhere that keeping a goal helps strengthen the mind in duress, he needed to ground himself. So every night when Michael would find somewhere to hide Adam would slink deeper into the crevices of his souls and pray wordlessly, he'd lost faith long ago, nothing bit his own words could be relied on. So there he sat, every night chanting silently,   
'Milligan, Winchester, Milligan.' If he were to rot down here, he swore to Michael he wanted to know the names of who have screwed him the most and loved him the best. 

"My mother was the only good in my life," he admitted, "and the Winchesters...the next time I see one, I'm going to kick them, punch them, or kill them...depending on who I meet first, I suppose."   
"Do you truly wish to kill your Father," Michael asked.  
"None of them ever fully hurt me, but what kind of Dad just leaves his son..knowing what's out there?" They were silent for a decade waiting before Adam remarked, "Do you want to your Dad?" Michael didn't respond, Adam could feel the cogs in the angels head spinning for the next century but he did not respond. 

Dante once compared the ninth circle of hell to a lake of ice housing histories greatest traitors. Michael felt like a traitor, to his faith for failing, to his family for leaving them in such chaos. The Pit was worse than anything any woebegone mortal could describe. 

At night the air would freeze over, Michael would stow them away in a corner at sunset and when it turned night the air would turned into a solid block, you could move without shattering the atmosphere, cutting open Adam's skin-which had been battered beyond repair. During the days moving felt like pushing through water at great depths, the pressure bended his ear drums causing them to quiver. The forced weighed down on Adam's chest and if he broke his concentration for even a second he would float up, into the dark. 

The ground was painful to walk on, each footstep was treading upon an unfinished goal he had forgotten, or a lie he had told someone important-it was the races in your heart when you were close to being found with something you wanted to hide. Adam never wanted to move again for fear of it causing him pain. 

Somewhere across the fastness of infinity Lucifer was crouching, huddled in pain. The first few millennia he lashed out at Sam, hurt and furious. Cutting, tearing, ripping the hinter apart in a fit of mad desperation. Michael had called out to him softly and the blows had quieted. Sam had been placed at the very center of the pit and left alone, now there was nothing to do, the angels stayed on opposite sides-the only reason why Michael still wore him around was to keep Adam alive. The mortal had to admit it was kind of fun to share a mind with someone, you didn't need to say anything they just knew. So for eternity Michael wandered about till it was night, when he'd tuck away into a ledge and grope at the ground for something to keep Adam occupied, which would in turn keep Michael occupied.

When mortals lost something that had great emotional toll to them it sunk to the pit, lost and forgotten. Betrayed.   
Adam had found an amulet like necklace a while back, it was small and from the feel of it he felt as if it was a face with horns. Michael insisted he wear it saying that the metal had Winchester soul in it. Adam doubted that but if Michael was trying to cheer him up then who was Adam to call him out on it?

Once a century thin whisps of light sparkled through the cracks in the ceiling, they rippled in the air. Like stars refracting on water. Those were the nights that the angels stretched out their wings, weeping desperately hoping their grace would absorb the smallest bit of light. 

Halfway through the eternity time stopped. The water became thin, releasing its hold on Michael's wings, lifting off Adam's chest. Curious Michael began to creep out of his crevice in the wall,   
"Brother," he rasped, "is this your doing?" Lucifer shivered, "Why would the light touch me anymore?" He looked onto Sam, "Sam," he whispered. Sam shook softly in his comatose state. Black tears trickled down the tracks of his soul. 

Light began to bleed in, punching through. Too small for an angel to fit into, too small for a human to be stuffed in.   
"That's odd," Adam murmured, "the lights early." Another stream of light punched through, collapsing a contraption designed to torture. Lucifer called out, snapping violently, "who is this," he shouted, "who are you?" 

Adam watched in a daze as a silver snake poked their head through the hole. They hissed in a life like stumble before laying out and slithering to the floor, floating on air. The snake touched down on the floor of the pit, on top of Sam's chest. The snake nuzzled his cheek before wrapping around his chest. It coiled up like a spring, shooting up and out the cage, looking back at the angels with a smug, thin grin. 

"What the fuck?" Adam demanded.   
"That was the weirdest thing I'd ever seen," Lucifer whispered. 

Millennia passed by again, the air had solidified again but the hole in the wall still stayed. A century back Lucifer had tried to force the hole to open more before the sigils along the roof had shot him down. It was during that time Michael had began bickering with his brother again.   
"You just had to-",   
"No I didn't have to do anything! It was Father's will!"   
"Well we're both rotting in hell so in the end it never really mattered did it!" Adam couldn't tell who was arguing which time. Which says alot about how stupid their argument is. 

"You know what?" Lucifer pulled himself out of his hole in the pit and climbed next to Michael wrapping his wings around themselves, "you're a fucking idiot and you need to shut your mouth." Michael's hackles rose nervously,   
"Luci-", Adam husher Michael taking control of his vessel, "you two need to stop complaining and move on, it's getting old." 

Michael hummed,   
"Maybe you need to treat your superiors better." Adam snorted,   
"Superiors my ass."


	3. He's like Art, Terrible Art...but Still Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where did Sam go, and who was that snek?

Sam opened his eyes to a darkened room that smelled like dust and paper. He crinkled his nose,   
"Hello," he rasped after loss of use for millennia, "is anybody there?" He pulled himself out of the rickety queen bed rustling up coffee stained papers that had been left on top of his bedding. He rubbed his eyes reading through the contents. The paper had his own neat handwriting printed on it with theories he had written half way asleep over the course of the years,  
"What the hell?" 

The windows were thrown open, the shutters were pinned back letting a breeze of forest air crawl in and blow up the tops of paperbacks stacked around him in mountainous structures. The covers popped with titles that he knew, every book he'd enjoyed, every book he'd wanted to read, all of if was laid out around him like an offering. "Hello?" Sam crawled out of bed lumbering over to the back window, "Anybody?" He hummed nervously.

Outside tree caps were dusted with mist. He sniffed the air, reaching his hands out to touch the wilderness surrounding him. From the rolls of mist a humpback whale jumped out, keening under a pale sun. It's back curved before falling back sending mist bubbling back in a burst of wind. Sam gaped,   
"Holy-holy shit!" He thundered to the other windows, switching back and forth to catch another whale break out. A storm was begining to seep in and turn the sun a dull purple with its shadows. Thunder whipped along the creases of the clouds as a whale jumped out glowing with lightning as it conducted through his fins. 

Sam wheezed in shocked,   
"Oh my god, oh my God-" shaking, his head whirled around looking for another window. Above him a domed sun roof ebbed with the movement of waves, was he underwater? Or dead? This couldn't be death if the world looked so gorgeous. Heaven was...he shook his head, heaven wasn't this beautiful. Behind him there was a door, it hadn't been there before, but maybe the books had hidden it from his view. Sam fell on the handle twisting it open and yanking it back, "Help me," he shouted. He walked through the frame, calling out. 

Inside the room was a garden, ivy and grass was rooted in the ground, growing up ladders and walls. At its center a twisty willow posed ageless under a setting sun above the clouds, bathed in gold. But along the grass grew up shelves, the notches were filled to the brim with papers and pens, more books were stacked, on topics he'd never dream had books written about them. 

His breath tumbled on the thinning air.   
"Oh wow..oh god." He sniffed nervously edging across the lawn in his bare feet. "Please anybody! I need help!" He turned his back to look above at the ceiling. A mural had been painted on it, the brush stokes were so light and the colors were unseen to most mortals, if he hadn't seen the crumbling of the paint along the edges he would have thought that the depictions were pictures. 

A ragged man stood gaunt at the foot of a fig tree, shivering saddely. Beside him a golden angel held a rag, staring on at him saddely with tears in her eyes, little sapphire beads had been planted instead of painted and drips of poison that trickled down the man's forehead from the mouth of a great serpent's maw was formed from grand opals fashioned like tear drops. Below the man three figure stood heads bowed in sadness, a beautiful women torn in half-dead on one side, alive on the other. The second was a twisted beast with the face of a kind human, his paws quivered, shifting back and forth between human fingers pale and rosy-or great clawed things dipped in blood. 

The third figure stood the most menacing of them all, his body was thin, it coiled around its brother and sister's feet, the tail stretched out wrapping around the portrait. It's head traveled up and up and up, knotting in the old fig tree, slithering down to drip venom on the old man's face. Sam breathed in delight, the picture moved and spoke in his head. Telling a story with out words. 

When his eyes slid back to old willow he found a door had grown in her twisty trunk. Sam cursed,   
"Really, you're really going to make me Alice and Wonderland my way through this shit?" He sighed, slinking down to the floor. There was no handle this time so Sam knocked waiting for a response. 

Someone on the other side tapped back, rhythmically, Sam sneered,   
"This is such a great idea." He knocked back, identical to the rapping from the other side. "Please don't eat my face," he prayed aloud." The door swung open and Sam crawled through. 

Behind the third door was the biggest room yet. During high school his school had offered field trips to France, he always liked to imagine what the libraries would have been like there. As a child his imagination was a little more eccentric then before, he'd imagined gold plated shelves and white walls holding books that smelled like almonds and old glue. When Sam wandered across echoey tiles, his childhood dreams had been sketched out onto reality. Sam opened the first book he saw and settling his nose along the binding.   
"I could die happy here," he admitted aloud. The ceilings were vaulted, crafted from thick slabs of translucent amber stones, drowning Sam in butterscotch or fire. He breathed it all in, the life, the freedom, the joy. Everything felt so right in that one second.

In the fraction of a second it took for him to blink Sam found a book fort had been assembled in the middle of the room, massive and complicated. Little book brick walls guarding the entrance and lofty towers raising up with a little pink flag waving merrily with caricatures of dicks plastered on it.   
"Hello?" He asked. Sam crawled through the book wall, popping out upright in front of its entrance. "Hello?" He pushed through the final wall of book to stand full height in the middle of a...Sam sighed, pillow fort.   
"Gaberiel, is that you?" 

The walls were lined with blankets of all colors and an old movie projector played some vague chick flick on the felt wall.   
"Come on Samshine, where's the fun in rescuing you if I don't get to scare the shit out of you?" Gabriel stepped out of the light smiling, "how are you, you big old Moose?"

Sam stepped back nervously,   
"Could you explain what's happening here?" The shorter straightened up and smiled bright and shiny, "I saved you, Loki helped too but for the most part it took some angel prowess to get you out of there." Sam grit his teeth, "what exactly is going on though, where am I...and why?" 

Gabriel pouted,   
"Don't you want to be saved?" Sam shrugged, "Don't dodge the question. Come on Gaberiel, Why?" Gabriel's face turned darker, blemishes flickered onto of his head and cold dead eyes seeped into the orbs of grace that he had before. "Bottom of the Marianas Trench and you won't be going anywhere for a long time so you might as well sit back." 

Sam reeled,   
"Are you alright?" Gabriel nodded,   
"Of course, Sammy but I refuse to let you leave, sorry. House rules." Sam bit his cheek, looking around for a window. Gaberiel shrugged, pulling a candy bar from his pockets,   
"The perks of living with me is being alive, you know? Until I can know you and Dean won't sell your souls for each other at the drop of a hat, you need to be..quarantined. Seriously, you guys are scaring even me." 

Sam shook his head,   
"Hell no, you're not keeping me here. Absloutly not." Gaberiel bit into a Babe Ruth,   
"It's this or the pit. Kiddo, plus, You know that I'll be taking care of you here and helping you, while the pit is just torturing you. It's a good deal, you just need to say yes."   
"I don't make deals," Sam barked.   
"Yeah, well this isn't a deal since it's against your will," Gaberiel grinned between bites of chocolate, "you do do coercion, right?" Sam kicked at the carpeted floor, "what do you even want?" The trickster held out his hand,   
"I want you to say yes," he waved it tauntingly, "Come on, Sammy!" Sam hesitating looking between before opening his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this and I honestly think this is my dream house. Plus those who think Sam doesn't deserved to be wooed can fight me.


	4. Really just a filler scene so I can publish something daily.

Doesn't it just hurt to know that you're not getting better you're just finding more distracting coping methods? 

Dean was never much for research, really he wasn't. Those few nights without Sam were like hell when he actually had to sit down and read through everything. The words would always blur together and he'd be left with nothing but a solid block of garbled text. He knew Cas was just giving him busy work, frankly busy work was the only thing he was good at. From the Angel's standpoint it sounded like an ingenious plan, he needed more man power and Dean was just the person to do it, a country wide network was just the thing to go looking for weapons of God. And Cas wouldn't have to worry about Dean doing something stupid and wandering into a field of Wendigos and getting his head torn from his shoulders. 

Dean's only concern was a how different hunters' perspective were on extermination. He'd met a man once who had immortalized pictures of each of his demon kills in pictures, holding their decapitated heads up proudly. This was the man his father trusted to leave him and Sammy with, plus he barely knew any Hunters these days. After the Apocalypse the only people he could trust just left. Except Bobby. 

Dean nearly swerved his car in the road from shock, how had he could have possibly forgotten about Bobby? 

He opened up his phone dialing the number. The phone picks up,   
"Dean? Is that you?" Before Dean can respond Bobby interjects, "where the hell have you been, boy?" Dean clears his throat,   
"Hunt, Bobby. Some spirit, killing rich people...nasty stuff, blood and guts...and-",   
"We need to talk, I can't tell you over the phone but come as soon as you can." Dean hummed in understanding, "Greay, I'll be there, I need to ask you something, too." Bobby mumbled something before hanging up. 

In front of Bobby's home lay a hallowed our tree he and Sam used to play on. Dean would pretend he was the leader of a secret organization that left elaborate codes for all his friends to find and kept the worlds secrets safe in secret forts. Dean smiled at the irony, his dream had come true, he supposed. Except he didn't have any friends to share it with like he had hoped, not even a brother. 

Bobby's house looked like it had been glued together with tar and motor oil, dipped in a sandstorm and plastered with enough brine to cover the house in a light dusting of rust for years to come. The inside smelled like burning candles, hundreds of old books and bitter-sweet whiskey that made you clench your lips and cheek. 

In the living room Bobby sat at his desk, he was muttering again, running a hand through his pink scalp.   
"Hey, Bobb-",   
"Don't you hey, Bobby me boy I was worried sick! First your brother dies then you disappear off the face of the earth!" His face soured, "tell me your hear to see me and not because the fate of the world is at stack, again." 

"Uh...," Dean said, "neither," he winced. Dean really had tried to make an effort to see Bobby more, but the last few months he had pulled away to numb the blow for him, Dean's death would wreck the man. Bobby looked up unimpressed,   
"What do you mean, neither?" Dean sat down, "I met up with Cas, he told me that the Angel's upstairs are fighting, Cas says that if the other side wins, those haloed dicks are going to try and open the pit again" Bobby groaned. 

"But we have a higher possibility of winning if we find weapons that had been stolen from heavens vault a decade ago." Bobby looked at him skeptically, "this sounds an awful lot like making me your own personal booty call, Dean." Dean shook his head,   
"No, Cas came up with an idea...he thinks it's time that the Hunters become more connected." Bobby raised an eyebrow, "what like a club?" 

"No, like the Road House was, I wanted to ask you if you'd ever heard anything like that?" Bobby sighed,   
"Listen, Dean...I-I got my own stuff to deal with and I honestly can't say that I have heard of-",   
"Please Bobby?" Dean pouted, "I'll even help you with whatever has been going on, anywhere you need me to go I'll head." Bobby's eyebrow raised,   
"Anyone, really?" 

Dean held onto the sides of his chair spitting cursed with every jolt of the plane. A stewardess would pass by him every minute or so offering a bag for him to puke in but Dean's stomach stayed stalwart as Dean's stomach did backflips through hoops of fire.   
"Head over to Scotland he said, it'll be fun he said, I just need you to check one thing and then you can leave he said!" Dean grumbled sinking back into the chair, "Why me." 

As soon as Dean stepped from the plane he opened his phone calling Bobby's number.   
"What the hell am I supposed to do when I get here," he screeched into the phone.   
"Don't be so damn pissy over it, boy. You're the one who volunteeredn" Dean swerved into the nearest Cafe stopping in line,   
"Alright, tell me what I need to be looking for here."   
"You're going to be looking up the grave of a Fergus Mccloud...I'll be covering his son on this side." Dean pursed his lip together, "Really, Bobby, I can't thank you enough and I hope this works."   
"I do to." 

The burial sat in a graveyard just off of a sweet old little church that Dean imagined aggressively catholic grandmas came to make contact with their relatives, and weep for their weary hearts. Who would have guessed a demon had buried in such a sweet little garden. When Crowley walked into the graveyard, he looked livid. When his feet came away from the grass he found that it had been burned to a black smolder.   
"I'll take that, thank you very much." He tossed the sack of bones over his shoulder and threw one last withering look at Dean, "I never intended to do anything bad to him, Dean. Wasn't going to collect it even when the ten years were up, I just thought he needed someone to make sure he doesn't overwork himself. Dean wanted to believe it, Dean knew that Bobby deserved all the rest in the world, but through a lying demon was no way. 

"Did you get it back," Dean asked into the phone l. Bobby laughed condescendingly,   
"Like I wouldn't have, the assholes so far up his own butt that he's probably just spitting with bullshit." Dean choked with laughter.   
"What are we even doing here, Bobby? Can you believe us right now." Bobby chuckled, "so maybe we're both a bit too old for this but who else is willing to srop the fricking apocolsypse." Dean snorted, his finger pulled back the tab of a beer can, cracking it open.   
"You need a vacation, Bobby insisted. Dean snorted in disbelief into the phone,   
"What kind of vacation? Do you want me to soak up Englands ancient culture?" He took a sip from his beer, "give me break, they were all homophobes and racists anyway." 

"I'm not saying you need to pick up a book, I found a weird job is all." Dean perked up, "where?"  
"You're gonna laugh, it's a town called Wincheste ." The corner of Dean's mouth twitched up, "oh yeah? Tell me about old Winchester then?" Thr sound of rustling pages was audible over the phone, finally Bobby spoke.   
"Last week the Local news did a report on a man who had tried to commit suicide by standing in a nearly frozen pond and waiting till his body shut down, local police had found him in time and the man claims a gorgeous woman covered in pelts and wearing feathers had offered to have sex with him if he followed her to the woods." Dean grimaced, "sounds like a terrible case of blue balls," he joked. 

"Last week a different man had jumped in front of a road presser because the lady across the street was beckoning him over, he almost died....a..retained several fractions going along the leg and...an almost flattened ribcage." Bobby hissed,   
"This is really just a long line of men, but all of them describe the woman as Native American." 

Dean looked out onto the road,   
"So what're you thinking?" Bobby clicked his tongue,   
"Honestly...I'm thinking, Deer-women."


	5. I is for I'm just a reclusive introvert who longs for love but pushes it away at the first sign of it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for mentioning swallowing tacks and being asked to swallow needles.

"I thought England didn't even have monsters," Dean complained loudly. 

The town had a population just below fifty thousand and looked like it had been carved from the inside of a Monty Python skit.   
"Normally there aren't, which is why this is so surprising. I thought you'd need a break so I was going through the local and...bubkis, nobodies heard about anything until today." 

Dean stopped in front of the police department, wall of bricks laid out like a cake. The cops at the front desk stared ahead blinking lazily, glassy films stretched over their pupils.   
"Excuse me," he whispered. The building was quiet as a morgue, a hushed murmur crackled through the building, jolting back and forth in lightning streaks. 

"Excuse me," he tried louder, the man wasn't looking at him, just staring ahead. Dean cleared his throat,   
"MI5," he held out his badge, "I wanted to talk about,"   
"You're American," the cop slurred out. Dean hissed through his teeth,   
"No m' naught, mate?" The cop shook his head, "yeah, yeah you 're, I hear' you." The cop slurred drunk and tired from lack of activity, "you're an American!" 

Other cops rushed forward. Dean's hands flew to his notepad, scribbling frantically.   
This man is drunk   
He pulled out his badge, motioning to the officer.   
You're lucky I don't report this to your superiors. I'm here for the Aisling case, the drunk? 

The cops straightened, none of them wanted to ask how someone who couldn't talk got into the MI5 but none of them wanted to be that asshole.   
"He's in cell block three, why's the MI5 looking into-", 

Suspicion of possession of American government grade LSD 

The head clamped his mouth shut,   
"Of course, I'm sorry he's just right here." He lead Dean down the hall, scowling into the cells. "This is pretty exciting," he commented, "never met a real government agent." Dean shook his comment off mindlessly, he was concentrating too hard on not speaking back when someone asked him a question. 

"Aisling's in here, he's been sleeping off the whole thing." Dean nodded, pursing his lips together  
Can you give us a little space, Sir?  
The officer left leaving the room alone for Dean. In the corner a man lay sprawled out on the bed, his shoulders shaking.   
"Hey," Dean growled, "get up you idiot." 

The man hiccups pulling himself out of the cot.   
"You're an American," he marveled, his voice bridged with sadness, "Like my Tiger Lily." Dean scrunched his face,   
"Who?" Aisling blinked away sleep, stretching out, "that beautiful brown beauty in the woods with a fierceness in her movement and gentleness in sweet touch." 

Dean snorted,   
"Well we have a motive then," he pulled out a chair, sitting across from the other, "you a poet or a something?" Aisling beamed proudly, "I'm actually an actuary but everyone I meet awes at the prose l keep tucked under my-",   
"Okay, man, I just want to ask you about that women that you met before you walked into that lake yesterday." 

Aisling cleared his throat,   
"Well, I suppose it began because of my hearts strange patter," Dean groaned,   
"Without the flowery shit man, just tell me what happened so I can put her in jail." Aisling shook his head,   
"You're not MI5 are you, babe?"   
"Just continue with the story." 

Aisling lay back in his bed,  
"I went out to the woods to clear my head, my wife and I were fighting. I used to hang out by the lake so I thought, why the hell not go? I was there and I saw this women, I called out to her-", Dean pulled his pant legs down, "you called her Tiger Lily is that the name she gave you or-",   
"Oh no, I never talked to her-I just called her that in my head...no she lead me with her eyes, and her lips. The sway of her hourglass figure-",   
"Okay, I've head enough," Dean stood up to walk out but Aisling stopped him with a shriek. 

"Her feet thought, I remember distinctly..everything about her was perfect except her feet were-hooves." He smiled sheepishly, "I was half way in the pond freezing my ass off and I notice her hooves when she walked close to me and I don't know-I snapped out of it, I started screaming...listen, I know this sounds crazy but I'm serious."   
"It's okay," Dean muttered, "I believe you." 

What am I doing here? Dean thought bitterly, hunting after a monster that didn't even kill a man who kind of deserved it and trying to build my own secret club like a kid again. He pinched the bridge of his nose and dialed Bobby,   
"Yeah, listen, I think we got out gal, guy said hooved woman." "Well that's great boy but I'm gonna need him to be more specific." A dog ran across the road followed by his kid causing Dean to swerve,   
"Bobby," he paised to curse, "Bobby what do you mean specifics?" He hopped out of the car to check on the kid, "he said hooves, what more do you need?"  
"Do you know how many hooves women myths there in north America alone, too damn many." Dean pulled the phone away from his mouth, "hey kid, are you alright?" The little boy nodded panting for air, "mmm alright. I'm sorry." Dean shook his head, "no, no, that's my fault. I feel like I'm driving on the wrong side of the road, do you need me to call your mother?" 

Bobby's muffled yells shook Dean's speakerphone. The kid shook his head,   
"No, I'm fine, my mommy's right there," he pointed at Dean's back, "and she doesn't like guys very much." Dean turned very slowly on his boots heels,   
"Uhm?" Behind him a women dressed in rabbit pelts covered in a stench of sweat and blood growled deeply at Dean, "Heartbreaker!" She screamed before opening her talon like fingers and descending on him. 

Adam craned his neck from sleep, blinking away the blur that tinged into his vision. He turned to Michael feeling warmth from the two beings behind him creep away,   
"Wasn't there a hole in the ceiling?" He squinted, the lack of light blurring against his eyes. Michael turned to face Adam frowning,   
"My entire existence has been with out sleep, I'd like it very much if you would let me use the rest of eternity to discover it's benefits."  
"Isn't it a bit-", The being behind Adam shuffled closer in his sleep, growling in German. Adam had taken half a semester of German before transferring but he knew enough to understand that he should lay back down before something bad happened to his eyeballs. 

Dean woke up in the bottom of a thicket, his eyes blinded by a grey morning light.   
"Hello," he called out, "hello?" To his side sat a woman dusted with blood, the pelts covering her in a cloak was matted down with mud.   
"Do you truly fear love as you wish people to believe or do you fear falling." She squinted at him, "not the vulnerability but the pain, pain to others and to yourself." 

Dean chuckled nervously,   
"Listen lady, I think before we start should searching you should probably take me to dinner first or-",   
"Are you aware of the pain you've caused?" He shook his head, "I haven't caused any pain," he insisted, "I swear-",   
"You're in love, you're trudging on the precipice of falling, terrified of getting your feet wet because of pain inflicted on you at a young age but you have no idea the pain you cause others. He fell for you and you rejected him." 

"Who-",   
"And before that you left before you could love them, unaware of how deeply in love they were with you, you move from harlot to harlot begging for attention and affection and the need for respect-everything you do has always been to earn respect from your father. All your sweet affections, all your affectionate nights, all of it at the extent of his cruelty." 

She pulled out a cup of needles,   
"Swallow it," the ends rattled like a shaker of salt, "swallow it...or," she tossed her hair back, "show me how you can love."   
"Listen lady, I'm not-". Her smile turned sharp, "of course you're interested." Her face slipped close to his ears, "you've never fallen in love Dean, I want to see how easily you'll fall when asked." 

Dean slammed the butt of his hand against her nose knocking her back.   
"Fuck you, I'm not interested." He pulled himself out of bed stumbling to the door,   
"Kid," he shouted, "hey, kid. Are you here?" The hallways thundered with the sound of him kicking door after door down, screaming and yelling and he went  
"Kid!" 

"There's no child," the Deer-women grabbed him from behind yanking him back by his hair, "I found your affections harder to win then most, so I resorted to the next best thing." Dean's eyes fizzled and the kid appeared again in front of him, broken and bloodied.   
"What'd you do to him?" Dean's onees wobbled pulling toward the floor,   
"I never thought I'd be the one to take down the big-band Winch-". The door burst open and the smell of cigarettes filled the room, pouring over everyone like a noxious gas. The Deer-woman stumbled back screeching in agony. 

"Winchester," the voice called and out stepped a woman scowling deeply, "you wouldn't happen to be the son of Henry Winchester's boy would you?"

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, Questions concerns?


End file.
